


And After

by SomeRainMustFall



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dani Powell Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Whump, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, but mostly Malcolm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: “Wait.”Reaching out to wipe the blood away with his thumb, Cohen seems to humor him. And every second that passes is a second more that the others have to find them, to findDani;Malcolm will take whatever he can get.“Wait for what, huh? Hurry up...got somethin’ I really need to take care of over there, if you know what I mean.”Malcolm stretches out towards him, as much as he can. He tilts his chin up, offering it for the man to grasp again.“Me,” he says. “T-take me.”×Whumptober2020 Day 22Drugged
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 32
Kudos: 123
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually...finished something again. Noice. Been a very long very fucking ridiculous few months, 10/10 would not recommend. _Anywho,_ I have just a few leftover Whumptober fics I wanna finish (good thing those prompts never get old 😌), BTHB fics I'm starting to get re-interested in finishing again, and I'm SO CLOSE to getting an update for Messiah out. SO. CLOSE. 
> 
> Please heed the tags for this one! Obviously nothing bad happens between Dani/Malcolm, and Dani is only lightly whumped since I'm not personally too much into female!whump. All the bad is in this chapter, all the recovery and...other stuff...is in next chapter. The fic is 100% done so that'll go up tomorrow and could totally be read alone if you just wanna skip over this one entirely! Up to you! Otherwise, please enjoy! 💕

The ropes are no less secure than they were when he woke up, nearing what must be an hour ago, but that doesn’t stop Malcolm from trying.

He strains, pulling and twisting his body, but when he once again has to take a break—because he can _barely breathe_ with duct tape wrapped again and _again_ around his head and mouth—his wrists are still firmly bound behind him, his ankles still stuck together.

He’d really like to rescind his prior comment to Gil about how thrilling this case was turning out to be. He’s not having fun anymore. Not at all. Not even a _little._

There’s a groan from behind him, and he immediately rolls himself to Dani’s side, bending his knees in order to prod at her with his toes. It hasn’t worked yet, no matter how many sounds she’s been letting out that make him think she’s about to wake, but this time Dani’s eyes flicker open, face half-obscured by curls he wants desperately to brush away, bruises across the cheek he wants desperately to cup his hand against.

Urgently, he grunts. She makes a sound, in _response_ instead of at random, and finally, finally looks up at him. Malcolm is so damn relieved that he _groans_ , tilting his head with another softer, questioning sound. 

_Are you okay?_

Dani rolls her eyes and then fixes him with a glare, and okay, _stupid question,_ but at least it’s a satisfying enough answer that he knows yes, she’s fine. 

As fine as one can be after having been captured and tied up, thrown in a room with their future left uncertain.

So...probably not very fine at all.

She starts to pull at her restraints, but he doesn’t have much confidence that they’re any looser than his own. He grunts to draw her attention again, and then jerks his head pointedly towards the corner. Her gaze follows his, finally settling on the camera settled on a tripod, and she blinks, startled. He hadn’t noticed it either, for far too long, but he’s been glaring at it long enough to have seen the red light blinking, a steady reminder that they’re being watched.

He figures they've waiting for them both to wake up, and he doesn’t think they’ll be alone much longer. 

He needs to get free, he _knows_ he does, he has to get them _out of here,_ but there’s nothing either of them have to help _do_ that. Her holster is gone, her pockets as empty as his. Their shoes are gone, their belts, his tie, even her necklace. No cell phone, no knife, nothing they can even use as a makeshift weapon. No hope to defend themselves, when he’s tied so tightly he's long lost the ability to feel his fingers.

Keys jingle in the hall, and Malcolm feels his heart start to pound, hears Dani’s breathing pick up just the same as his own. The door unlocks, the knob twists, and then the man who's been behind the operation but never getting his hands dirty enough for an arrest, Joseph Cohen, along with two of his men, strolls into the room. One of them is dragging a chair, and the awful way the metal legs screech along the tile, grating in their ears, makes both of them flinch and cringe. 

“Well, now!” Cohen takes the chair from his cohort, sets it right in front of them, and then plops himself down with a sigh. “Was startin’ to think we’d never get to talk!” He tilts his head, looking at Dani, and smiles at her. “How’s the head, darlin’? Let me see...” 

He reaches out towards her, and Malcolm will be damned if he lets him touch her, if he lets any of them get _near_ her. He takes a breath and slams his head down against the man’s arm, knocking it off course, the best he can do. The pain is startlingly intense thanks to the blow he’s taken recently, and he feels blood start trickling down from a split somewhere above his eye, but it successfully spares Dani from whatever he’d been about to do, and that’s all that matters.

Instead, Cohen's attention goes to him. He wraps a hand around Malcolm's neck, thumb and index finger pressing hard into his jaw. Malcolm wasn't at all prepared for the frighteningly predatorial way Cohen suddenly looks him over, and it sends a shiver straight down his spine.

“You’re a tough little guy, huh?” Cohen asks, tilting Malcolm’s head to one side and then the other, and Malcolm jerks back, away from him. He grunts, makes it clear that he’s trying to speak in hopes the man takes the tape off, but Cohen only chuckles.

“No, no, _Malcolm_. I think you’ve said enough, haven’t you? If you’d kept your mouth shut, kept your little nose—” He flicks the tip of Malcolm’s nose, and Malcolm flinches despite himself. “—out of where it didn’t belong, you wouldn’t be here. Neither would she. And you’re really gonna wish she wasn’t here in a second.”

“Mmh…?” Malcolm shakes his head hard, as if that’s going to dislodge it in the slightest, and Cohen smirks. 

“You’re both pretty when you sleep. When you’re quiet. And well, you gotta know neither of you are gettin’ out of here alive, right? Not with what you know. What you _saw._ Hell no. You’d go tell your little friends, and ruin the shit we’ve got goin’, and that’s just not gonna happen.”

It's... _good_ , in some way, that he doesn't know their team already knows. It's the reason they aren't already buried six feet under, that they haven't packed up the warehouse and left no evidence behind. They don't have the advantage they think they do.

That means, though, that they're going to take their time with them. 

Malcolm does his best to speak again, but Cohen ignores him. He's never felt more helpless than the times he can't use his one skill to change minds, to at the very least _distract._ He's not just helpless, he's _useless,_ only able to watching as Cohen's eyes go to Dani again, his tongue pressed against his lower lip in a way that leaves his intention in this all impossible to misinterpret.

“My boys here got quite the handful of the little missus before...I think they’d like to get a better one. I'd really like to get one myself.”

Dani breathes out shakily, hands curling into tight fists behind her. Malcolm doesn’t take his eyes off Cohen, ready to lash out again, to fight until his last breath to protect her, because he _cannot_ allow that to happen. He can't, not when it's his own damn fault they're here at all. 

Gil had told them to survey, not confront. He’d told them to stay in the car, to pull up outside the warehouse and just _watch._

Malcolm hadn’t. He hadn’t, because he never fucking does. He’d seen an open door, gotten out, and slid his way inside. He’d found boxes of drugs, _hundreds of thousands_ of dollars worth of drugs that they’d murdered someone to keep safe. 

He’d made Dani come after him, and that’s when they’d seen her, grabbed her as she tried to follow him through. He’d heard her gun go off, heard scuffling and then her crying out, and then someone had struck him over the head, too.

He's concussed, likely, the way he kept dipping in and out of consciousness. He’d felt a few things here and there; being lifted, thrown over someone’s shoulder, then dropped somewhere else and tied up. He’d heard speaking, gruff and angry voices, but not what was being said. And when he’d finally come to fully in the room beside Dani, he'd temporarily thought she was _dead_.

She might be soon. She might wish she was before that. And all of that is his fault, too.

“You’re scared,” Cohen murmurs, addressing her. He slams a hand out into Malcolm’s chest, sends him sprawling, and with him out of the way he grabs Dani by her shirt and pulls her forward.

“Don’t be scared, baby. We’re gonna make you feel _real_ nice before you die.”

She grunts furiously. Malcolm struggles to wheeze in air, to force himself to sit up again, but then one of the others is kneeling behind him and dragging him back against his chest.

“You watch," the man says into his ear, reaching down to squeeze his hip. "Stay still, pretty boy…you'll get yours."

Malcolm protests and struggles anyway, and the man covers his nose with his other hand, leaving him unable to get any oxygen at all.

Dani chokes. Malcolm shuts his eyes, but then has no choice but to open them again because he’s _not_ going to let her suffer while he hides. Cohen’s hand has disappeared up under her shirt, and the sight makes Malcolm’s blood boil, makes him squirm and swear and fight even as his lungs burn and the man holds him tighter.

“He’s not happy, is he?” Cohen asks, pulling her even closer. “No, I don’t think he is. He cares about you…but he ran his mouth. Got the police lookin’ into what should’ve been ruled a suicide. Snuck onto our property. _Naughty,_ the both of you. Aww, you’re gettin' pale there, tough guy! What's wrong?”

Malcolm bucks forward, then back, his self-control and even his guilt overwhelmed by the need to breathe, and the man still holds onto him a few seconds longer before letting him go. Malcolm sucks in the deepest breath he can, coughing, and then the hand returns, and no matter how much he fights he still can’t shake it off.

Dani slams her head into Cohen's, while he's distracted, with another snarl. He shouts in pain and curses, and then punches her hard enough she falls back, reeling, blood gushing from her nose. Cohen yanks her closer by her ankles and then straddles her hips, taking out a pocket knife, and Malcolm forces himself to still, blinking hard to try and clear the black spots from his vision because he needs to know what’s happening, he needs to _know_ , he can’t focus on anyone but Dani, he has to _stop them—_

Slowly, deliberately, Cohen flips out the blade, and runs the cold silver along Dani’s cheekbone with just enough pressure to leave a red line behind. Again, and blood beads to the surface, dripping down her skin. 

“So pretty,” he says, twisting the sharp tip into her hair. “Beautiful. I’m really gonna take my time with you. And the noises he’s makin’ over there? Hell, I think I might just take him, too. And then I’m gonna leave you both to my boys here. And when they’re done, they’ll put a bullet in your brains, and you’re gonna be grateful for it.”

He grabs the collar of her shirt and pulls, ripping it so it falls off her shoulder, a threat of worse to come as she kicks out. Malcolm heaves in another desperate breath as it’s allowed, and this time he doesn’t waste a second before he's screaming.

It gains all of their attentions, and Cohen tilts his head. “You don’t like that idea, tough guy?” 

Malcolm can’t breathe, he _can’t breathe,_ he's going to pass out—but he can’t take the time to catch his breath when he needs them to _listen_ , when he needs to do _anything he has to_ to make this stop. He kicks his legs, struggles and screams and throws his head about until the man behind him fists his hair to still him and suddenly Cohen has his knife pressing into his throat.

“What,” Cohen hisses, “the _fuck_ do you want, huh? Shut up before I knock you out again, _bitch_.”

Malcolm doesn’t. He stops moving, but he’s urgent and persistent in voicing what he can’t actually put words to until finally Cohen clicks his tongue, sitting back on his heels. “Should we see what the tough guy has to say? Huh?”

“Let him suffocate,” the other says, and the one behind Malcolm nips the shell of his ear.

“He’s _pretty_ all red like this, isn't he?"

Cohen purses his lips, thoughtfully, and then finally hooks one finger into the tape, raises the blade, and slices through it. It nicks his chin, but the pain is nothing compared to the _relief_ he feels as he finally gulps in a full breath, and his voice is hoarse and shaky as the rest of him as he pants out, “ _Wait._ ”

Reaching out to wipe the blood away with his thumb, Cohen seems to humor him. And every second that passes is a second more that the others have to find them, to find _Dani;_ Malcolm will take whatever he can get. 

“Wait for what, huh? Hurry up...got somethin’ I really need to take care of over there, if you know what I mean.”

Malcolm stretches out towards him, as much as he can. He tilts his chin up, offering it for the man to grasp again.

“Me,” he says. “T-take me.”

Dani lets out an enraged shriek. She thrashes about, trying to move forward, to fight, but Cohen spares her nothing more than a glance.

“Take you?” he asks, and Malcolm nods. His body starts to twitch and tremble, the horror of what he’s doing settling in now that the words are coming out clear and audible, but he ignores it. 

He won’t let her suffer for his failure, for his mistakes.

“Yes. _Yes._ Take me.”

Cohen doesn't look convinced. “Thing is, I want her.”

“Then take me _first_. Fuck.” He rolls his hips up, leans back against the man. He licks his lower lip and bites it, and then says, “I’ll make it good.”

“Oh?” Cohen asks, looking him over, and _there_ it is, there's his interest, finally caught by the movement, the promise. And though Malcolm had offered himself he still can’t hold back his flinch when Cohen actually touches him, sliding his hand up Malcolm’s inner thigh. It's instinct to bring his knees together, to try to protect himself, but then Cohen’s eyes flick up to meet his again. 

“Tease...doesn’t look like you really mean it." And he looks annoyed. He looks like, with one more wrong move, he's going to decide to ignore Malcolm again. 

“ _No._ I do, I-I _do,_ just...ah…” Malcolm grits his teeth, and slowly, inch by inch—for Dani, _for Dani—_ forces them apart again.

“Good boy...” Cohen murmurs, and moves his hand up a little further. He hears Dani shout again, and then the man palms him through his pants, and the pang of sheer fear and humiliation that shoots through him makes him cry out, makes him _hurt,_ turns his ragged breathing into harsh, uncontrolled panting no matter how much effort he puts into steadying himself.

Cohen seems to like him _more_ for it. "Mmm. Can’t say I’d hate it…”

“N-no…?” It’s hard to make conversation when he’s being touched like this, when he suddenly is consumed with wanting nothing more than to _die,_ but he has to remember it’s his fault, it’s _his fault,_ and it’s _he_ who deserves the consequences, not Dani. Not her. No, no, not her. “I’ll m...make sure you don’t.”

Cohen smirks, squeezing him gently. “You will, will you?”

He nods. He lets his body go limp, closing his eyes, doing everything he can to resist kicking the man away, because he knows the second he does, it's going to fall back on Dani.

“No, _Malcolm..._ keep those open for me. They’re so beautiful…I want to see them.”

Malcolm obeys. He looks up at him again, shaking so badly now that his teeth are chattering, and Cohen smiles.

“You’re brave, you know that?” He slides his hand up, under Malcolm’s shirt, and though it’s cold and makes him jump out of his skin it’s far better than where it was. Cohen moves closer, tilting his head to hover his lips over Malcolm’s neck, humming. “Thought you were just playin’ the part. But you’re really gonna take us for her, aren’t you?”

Malcolm wets his lips, tilting his head, flinching as the man's mouth touches his skin. “Y-yeah…”

“Yeah?” He kisses one spot, then another. “Hmm. You know what? I admire that. I really do. You’re so...little. Expected you to be weak. Cryin', even. Beggin' for your life. I love bein' surprised. Turns me on a little, actually...”

His thumb finds one of Malcolm’s nipples, rubbing over it, and Malcolm chokes, swallowing back tears and fighting the urge to curl into himself.

No choice, there’s _no choice_ but this. He can distract them. He can. He _has_ to. If he does, if he— _God—_ makes it _good,_ makes them all want him instead of her, then Dani can remain untouched for a while longer. 

Gil knows where they are. Gil has to be coming. He _has_ to be. Malcolm just has to make sure Dani survives, _unharmed_ , until he does. That’s his goal, his only goal, and he’s going to have to do what he can to focus on it.

Far easier said than done. Cohen takes the knife to his shirt, ripping it down the middle, and pulls it apart. It becomes more real by the second, the tear of every thread ringing in Malcolm’s ears with his heartbeat. Cohen voices his appreciation, calls him _beautiful_ , and sets to exploring about his chest and belly with his fingers before finally they reach his fly. 

_Don't, don't, don't, stop—_

Malcolm looks over Cohen's shoulder. The other man has abandoned being close to Dani at all in favor of coming to watch them, and that’s the only relief he feels, trying to hang onto it. She's still writhing on the floor, but she freezes when they make eye-contact. 

He smiles weakly. Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head frantically, but it would be too late to turn back now even if he wanted to. Cohen pops open the button, and he sucks in a breath and whimpers it out. 

"Don't be scared…" Cohen murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss to the center of his chest, and Malcolm groans in despair. Cohen breathes out a laugh over the spot, glancing up at him. "Don't be. Can make you feel good, too, if you let yourself enjoy it."

Nearly hysterical, Malcolm laughs, too. It comes out as a choked sob, and Cohen gives him a wicked grin. 

"You know what? Maybe...since you're just _so_ good…" 

He pulls back, reaching into his pocket, and then brings his hand back in front of Malcolm’s face. Malcolm flinches, turning away, and then slowly lets out his breath and dares to look.

It’s...a little glass vial, half the size of his finger. He doesn’t understand, for a moment, until Cohen shakes it, _offering_ it.

“It’ll take the edge off,” Cohen says. “C’mon. Take a bump. Just one.”

Malcolm shakes his head. Cohen only brings it closer. 

“You’re too tense to make it good for anyone, baby. ‘less you want me to give it to her, first. Thought you said you were gonna be good, but if—"

“ _No_.” Nothing is more important. Nothing. If it keeps Dani safe…he has no choice. And...maybe if it makes him forget...if it makes this all _easier_ …it’s more than he deserves.

Malcolm tilts his chin up, gesturing his compliance. Cohen smirks, and sticks the tip of it into one of his nostrils, pressing the other closed. Malcolm holds his breath on instinct, but Cohen doesn’t give him a second chance. He keeps it there, and finally, Malcolm closes his eyes and sniffs. 

He doesn’t remember Cohen taking it away. He suddenly doesn’t remember much of _anything_ , and it’s not until he reaches up to rub at his itchy, tingling nose that he realizes his hands are free. He stares at them a moment, fingers blurring strangely in the lighting, and then looks down to see if his ankles are, too, only to find Cohen between them, laughing as he says something Malcolm can’t quite comprehend, as he works Malcolm’s pants down and then off completely. 

It doesn’t scare him like it should. He’s relaxed, watching with the most distant, detached feeling of something like horror as he’s manipulated, as they touch over him, until the stimulation is enough that he tilts his head back and groans.

“Does that feel nice?” someone asks, and Malcolm can’t reply. He can’t do anything at all, can’t control the whines that start spilling out or the way he starts to move around that makes them coo at him.

“You’re so good, Malcolm. That’s it. Bein’ so good for us.”

He doesn’t want to be. He’s with himself enough to know that, but not much else. Feels like he’s floating...

“She’s gonna fight, and I’m gonna enjoy that, but _you_...Jesus, you’re pretty as hell, all limp like this. All _hard._ Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He _doesn’t want it to,_ but it does. It starts sending little shivers and shocks throughout his nerves until he’s panting, hands scrabbling for purchase against the slick tile beneath him.

“That’s it. Told you it would if you just let yourself go…but hey, that’s what the drugs are for. And you two with your cop friends, tryin' to shut us down...selfish. You’re a _selfish_ little boy. Don’t you want everyone to feel like this?”

It sounds wrong...he doesn't know why, though. He doesn't know why there's so much he thinks he needs to care about, but none of it actually _registering._ He's so...he just...he feels...

Whoever’s behind him cups his chin, tilting it back until they can suck at the corner of his mouth, and he whimpers. A hand wraps around him, and it's automatic to gasp, “D- _don’t…”_

“Don't do what, baby? This?" He twists his hand, and Malcolm's back arches, a cry wrenched out of him.

"Sounds like you want me to do it again…" 

No. No, he doesn't want...does he? No...or, or _maybe,_ he...no, that...doesn't sound right, but...he...

  
  
More touching, the same and different, so _much,_ and it all feels so strangely, unexpectedly intense, and he's so exceptionally conflicted and _confused_ that he starts to weep. "Oh... _oh…_ "

"That's it. Let's get the rest of this tension out…"

He writhes, aware of nothing else but the three sets of hands on him, his world reduced to colors and pleasure and uncertainty. They pinch and grope every part of him, praise him with words that fade away from his memory the moment he hears them, all slowly but surely bringing him closer and closer to an end.

He doesn't want that...does he? It feels so good…it shouldn't feel _so good_. It shouldn't suddenly feel like the _only_ thing he wants, and he shouldn't be rocking up into every touch and stroke, moaning out every breath as tears stream down his face.

"Mmm…aah _…aah..."_

"Fuck...I don't even think _she's_ gonna sound this good," Cohen purrs, grabbing Malcolm's throat with his free hand to keep him still while he kisses him hard, and Malcolm's so goddamn lost that he opens his mouth wider and gets even louder. 

" _Fuck...listen_ to you...little slut...gonna fuck you so _good_ , baby. Fuck, you're so pretty...come for us. Show us how loud you can be."

A finger suddenly pushes into him, burning terribly, and he wails in pain and in something else, something deeper, all nothing he understands. But the hands keep touching, and they keep finding places to focus on to make him weep, and then the finger inside him is being thrust in and out and in _too deep—_

"Oh—fuck— _fuck—"_

He sucks in a ragged breath and shouts as he falls apart, as he thrashes against them and empties into the hand around him and over himself—no, no, _wrong_ , something is so _fucking wrong—_ and then…

And then _mercifully_ , nothing.

**x**

Dani has never felt more helpless in her entire life. 

From the moment Bright had offered his body in place of hers, her fighting had tripled in effort. She’s given it her all, everything she possibly can, and it doesn’t do a thing. She can’t slip free. She can’t _help him,_ can’t stop them from running their hands over him and saying things she'll surely hear in nightmares for the rest of her life.

They stop paying attention to her. No matter how she yells, she’s left practically forgotten, and she's furious about it. Even as she looks around the room, again and again, there’s _nothing._ Not a loose nail on the floor, not a sharp edge, nothing to cut through the ropes and certainly nothing to attack.

Bright whimpers, and she focuses back on him, terror flooding through her veins as she finds Cohen holding a bumper to Bright's nose. She cries out in warning, but it doesn’t matter. Bright has no choice. It’s him or her, and he’s just goddamn _Bright_ enough to allow it to be him.

The way Bright's body goes entirely limp the moment he sniffs is enough to make tears start to run down her face. His eyes roll back to the ceiling, lids fluttering as he lets out his breath in a long, relieved sigh.

God, she remembers that feeling. That moment, that _very second,_ was the high she'd chased again and again. 

To see him forced to experience it makes her nauseous. It makes her wonder if she'll ever crave it again, and makes her hate herself to know, deep down, she still will.

But the things that happen next…

She's grateful for his altered consciousness. He would be, too. He understands a bit of what's happening, enough to whine protests, but it doesn't hurt like it would if he wasn't high. It doesn't matter now like it will later.

She can't fucking watch. Cohen and one man are blocking her sight of all but Bright's kicking feet and curled toes anyway. She presses her face down against the floor and silently sobs as she listens to them tease and assault him, praying for Gil and JT to find them. 

He doesn't deserve this. He'll think he does, because he _always thinks_ that, but it's not true, andthe goddamn moron should have never done something so _stupid—_

"Oh—fuck— _fuck—"_

She cries out, forcing herself to look up. She's a _coward,_ trying to escape any way possible when Bright _can't_ —

Bright lets out the weakest sound she's ever heard, and his legs go still. Cohen laughs, and the one beside him asks, "Did he just pass out?"

“We wore him out. _Adorable._ "

"Goddamn...look at him…”

Cohen leans over, kissing at Bright's chest, and the other man moves. It gives Dani a horrifically clear view of Bright's pale, limp, _naked_ body, covered in red marks and forming bruises. He's so fucking _small_ , surrounded by them, and she starts to swear and curse again. 

Cohen stands, turns, and kicks her in the stomach. It silences her, forces every bit of air from her lungs and leaves her unable to replace it. 

"Wait your fucking turn," he says, and unbuckles his pants, taking himself out and getting to his knees again.

_No...no, no, please..._

"Jesus," the one holding Bright says. "He's still whimpering. Real quiet…"

The other runs his hand over Bright's body and says, "Maybe we should keep him around a while."

_No. No, no, no._

Cohen grunts, pulling Bright's legs apart, and Bright's head rolls from one side to the other as he groans, almost too quiet for Dani to hear over her own wheezing. "They both have to go."

"He'd sure make a pretty pet…"

"Mmm. Depends how good he takes my cock, I guess." 

"Hurry the fuck up, then! I want him _bad…_ "

"Take the girl."

" _Him."_

"Then take his mouth. Looks pretty empty to me."

"Not a bad idea…"

"Just careful when he's waking back up." Cohen yanks Bright closer, and Bright starts to move again, to shake his head and whine in a terribly ill-timed return to awareness.

" _Dani,"_ he whispers, the clearest thing he's said, and Dani sobs, calling out his name, letting him know she's there the only way she can. She inches forward, desperately, but there's nothing she can do. One shove and she's helplessly on her back again, and Bright shouts, _"No!"_ as he realizes what's about to happen, and she screams her anger, her fear, from the goddamn unfairness of it all. The last, hopeless memories of their lives will be their own _assaults—_ this isn't how it should have ended, this is never, _ever_ how she thought things would end—

There's a sudden, deafening boom. It startles the hell out of everyone in the room, and through dust now clouding the air from the busted down doorway she watches as Cohen pulls back, as Bright is shoved and dropped down, his head bouncing off the tile from how hard it hits.

His limbs jerk, just once. 

And then he's horribly, deathly still.

"Hands up! _Up! Now!"_

There's suddenly so much movement, so much yelling, but Dani can only see Bright. A dozen pairs of feet enter her peripheral, but she can only focus on him, frozen in fear, holding her breath as she tries to see if Malcolm’s even breathing himself.

She can't tell. She can't _tell—_

There are hands on her, and instinct, nerves and muscles coiled so tight they ache, makes her shriek and struggle against whoever owns them. 

" _Dani!"_

JT's voice. JT. Not a stranger. Not any of the three.

The completion of the relief that overcomes her makes her body go limp. JT peels off the tape, frees her from the ropes with a few quick swipes of his own knife, and then she's pushing herself up before he can say anything else.

Bright isn't on the floor anymore. Instead he's cradled in Gil's arms, wrapped in Gil's jacket, but still far too motionless, too limp. Gil is pale, and there's nothing but fear in his eyes as he looks at her.

"Dani—" he chokes, but Dani couldn't care less about herself because Bright looks _dead_ in his arms, head lolled back, mouth open, limbs flopping about as Gil lifts him. She rushes over to them, staggering noticeably enough that JT stays close beside her, arms out to catch her if she needs it.

But she only needs one thing right now. She shoves two fingers against his pulse point, and then nearly sobs.

Faint, too fast, but there. He’s alive. 

“He was drugged,” she whispers. “I—I don’t know with what. Coke, or—or maybe ketamine. He took it through his nose.”

Gil swears. There's tears down his face, and her vision is blurred by her own. “Buses’re outside. Can you walk?”

“I can,” she says. “Go. _Please._ ”

Gil doesn’t need to be told twice, rushing off, cupping the back of Bright’s head to keep it in place against his chest. 

“Can you?” JT asks, and she tries to say yes, only before she can her knees are buckling, and JT’s having to catch her before she falls. 

“Whoa, whoa. I gotcha. Hey! Dani. _Dani._ Look at me."

Her eyes are suddenly so _heavy,_ but she forces them open at his request. JT squeezes her shoulder, offering a smile, and nods. "There you go. Good. Stay awake, okay? Come on. I can carry—"

" _Nuh,_ " comes her barely comprehensible reply, and while JT scoffs, he knows her too well, knows damn well that while she's still conscious, she's not going to let anyone see her like that.

Especially not...not after...

"Alright. Hold onto me, then."

That she can do. That she _needs._ Hell, she probably _does_ need more than that, and her legs are weak enough that not having to walk seems like a _dream,_ but she refuses. He wraps one of her arms around his shoulders, and together, slowly, they’re able to get outside to the waiting ambulances. She feels them wrap a blanket around her as she lays upon the stretcher, and hears something about how she’s in shock, but not much else.

Shock makes sense. A concussion, too. She’s cold, numb, and frightened. The way Bright's head hit the floor replays in her mind, and anxiety, the fear of him dying now or later when she can't be there to _know_ threatens to overtake her. The memory of how Cohen had _touched_ her follows, and then the shame does.

She doesn't want any of it. She can't _handle—_

JT takes her hand. She doesn't have any idea when the ambulance started moving, or how long it's been, but she feels his hand squeezing hers, warmth against ice cold skin, and it’s that touch, _only that,_ that keeps her grounded as the vibration of the vehicle—or maybe something in the IV she has no recollection of anyone ever getting close enough to put into her hand—lulls her into the first sense of peace she's had, and then, eventually, into sleep. 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading and supporting! It felt good to post again 🥰💕

Malcolm wakes up with a mind so blank it’s a struggle to remember his own name. 

He still remembers Dani’s, first. 

He somehow pries his lids open, blinks them hard to try and get rid of the blurring in his vision. He lifts his hand, or _tries_ to, and finds he can’t do much more than twitch his fingers, curl them to his palm and let them relax again.

He's sedated. _Heavily._ He recognizes the feeling, and it's something he doesn't want, something he knows even through the fog. He knows things are _wrong_ , much more than just being drugged, too, only he can't _think,_ can't remember, can't quite—

"Hey."

He hadn't realized he was whimpering until he swallows hard and the noise suddenly stops. His gaze travels slow over to his left, where he finally sees thatDani is sitting in a chair beside the window. 

"D...Dani," he gets out at last, tongue awkward and somehow unfamiliar in his own mouth. Drugs...too much... _too much_. "Are...are you...okay?"

She nods, wringing her hands in her lap, unable to look at him. Nervous...or upset...or…

He groans, shaking his head to try and clear it when he knows it's not going to work, when he can't even get a full shake in before he's overcome with dizziness and nausea that makes him dry-heave. 

She's beside him in an instant, taking his hand, and it settles his stomach, his _soul,_ to have her touching him, _alive._

She nearly wasn't. There's a bandage over her cheek, and it reminds him how he nearly got her killed. Again. 

And then, other things come back. Things he wishes had stayed far, far away. 

He flinches, suddenly, gasping. The beeping on his heart monitor increases, and the machine lets out an alert sound that only sends more panic through him because suddenly it's all too much. 

"Bright," she says. She places her other hand over his, enclosing it safely between both of hers, and he looks up at her with tears streaming down his face.

"Dani," he gasps out. "Did they...h-hurt you?" 

She purses her lips, unhappy, and shakes her head again.

They didn't hurt her. They...they _touched_ , but they didn't...they didn't...

"Gil...came?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, they came. You...you hit your head. You've been out a while, but...they don't think there's going to be damage."

It wouldn't matter if there was. All of that just _doesn't matter._ What matters is that they came in time, like he'd hoped and prayed they would. That they saved her from anything worse. Malcolm had managed to distract long enough.

He doesn't remember everything that happened, even before they drugged him. Bits and pieces. Things that make his insides crawl, that makes him cringe and flinch as he goes through them, but not everything. He thinks that means he's lucky, that he should be grateful. He thinks, given everything else he's been through, he'll be able to properly bury the memories he does have. He'll just need a little time.

_'That's it...let's get the rest of this tension out…'_

He shuts his eyes, squeezes them as tightly closed as he can, his hand trembling fitfully even as Dani tightens her hold on it.

Maybe more than a little. Maybe a long while, until he stops remembering what their hands felt like, their lips. Maybe longer, until he can even begin to address the shame and disgust that's hidden just under the blanket of drugs, ready to come to the surface the moment they're not protecting him anymore.

But he did what he had to do. There'd been no other choice, and he'd do it again. 

"For God's sake, Bright," she mumbles, holding her other hand under her nose for a moment as she sniffs, trying to steady herself. "You…did that for _me._ How...how could you…?"

He stares at their hands, then up at her. _How?_ How can she even ask something like that? How could Malcolm ever have done anything less?

"M...my fault," he replies at last. "Sorry. S...so sorry, Dani. I'm so...sorry…"

He sobs softly, shrinking down, and wants to disappear. He thinks about how she _saw_ him like that, saw him vulnerable and exposed and _reacting_ , and how disgusted she must be. How could anyone be anything less? Guilt must be the only thing allowing her to even _touch_ him.

But she shouldn't be feeling guilty, she shouldn't be feeling anything but _relief_ that Malcolm's fuck up hadn't led to her death and _worse—_

She tugs his hand up to her mouth, and kisses it.

Malcolm's breath leaves him, and briefly doesn't come back. The monitor beeps loudly again, and for a moment, he can _only_ think of Dani, nothing else, _no one_ else.

"You didn't know," she says. "You didn't know what would happen. And then—and then you gave yourself for me. For _me._ How could you—how could you ever—"

She stops. Malcolm finally breathes again, but he says nothing, attention completely caught by her. 

"I'd have done it for you, too," she says, quieter. "I tried to. They wouldn't…"

That confuses him, more than anything. Why in the hell would she ever have even _tried?_

"You're not _nothing_ , Bright," she says, finally looking up at him, as if she read his mind.

He would never argue, but he knows the truth.

He also knows, though, that it feels really, _really good_ for someone to tell him otherwise. Even when he knows it's ridiculous, when he knows it's false. The idea that she could even think that for a second...and for someone to be so close, to touch him so _gently_ , especially after…

He shudders violently, turning onto his side to tuck his legs up. He doesn't want to think about all their damn _hands—_

She squeezes his again. _Kisses_ his again. Holds it tight and says, "I'm here." 

"Y...yeah?" he asks, and she smiles.

“Yeah.”

He relaxes, just a little. The beeping slows again, into something almost lulling. She starts to get blurrier, and his head sinks back against the pillow.

“‘m here, t-too,” he manages, forcing it out before he’s dragged under again. He wants her to know, needs her to, even when he's not sure why she'd ever want to come to him for support when he can't even support _himself._ “For you.” 

“I know. Thank you, Bright.”

She never lets go of his hand, even as he drifts away.

Malcolm hopes she never does.

**x**

It isn’t easy, not for either of them. 

It’s nightmares, and fear, and lost composure where before they could have stayed together. It’s flinching away from suspects, from witnesses, from _family_. 

Gil touches Malcolm when his mind is focused elsewhere, just a gentle brush to the back of his neck, and then has to pull him away to his office to help handle the breakdown it inadvertently causes. A witness brushes her own cheek, nothing more, and suddenly the scar on Dani's face—and how she got it—is the only thing she can think of, and it takes half an hour for her to stop shaking.

It's not easy, not when no matter how they're reassured, it still feels like they're doing this alone.

It's about a month after the incident, just one week of them both fully back at work, when Dani first comes to Malcolm's place. It's near three in the morning, but she knows Malcolm doesn't sleep. She'd have been surprised if he _didn't_ immediately let her up, ready with coffee and various snack foods to offer that his weight loss shows he hasn't been eating himself.

She gets it, though. If nausea and anxiety had been a problem for him _before_...

"Dunno why I'm here," she says, settling down on his couch, and he tucks himself into the corner of it, knees to his chest, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. "It's just...can't sleep right, I guess."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I'm...I'm familiar." He purses his lips, and lowers his head. "Nice not to be alone, sometimes."

She'd been wondering, for a moment, if she should just go, but that, that shy, desperate little plea for her not to, makes her perfectly content to stay, to start up a conversation that has Malcolm untensing his shoulders and downing his guard, just enough to smile a bit here and there.

It's not about not about what happened, not at first. That's something she can barely talk about with a therapist. It's normal, almost easy, and sometimes Malcolm will turn on the television for extra distraction, and it's just... _nice._ It's nice not to be alone. So it becomes some kind of routine for them both, every week or so; a night where Dani comes over, and they talk for hours about anything they can, until she crashes on the couch and wakes to Malcolm whimpering through a nightmare in his bed in the morning.

It helps, even when they don't mention that day. Helps even when it slips out accidentally, when Malcolm eventually hiccups out a sob of, "It _hurts_." and Dani doesn't need context because she knows. It hurts her, too. When it goes no further than Malcolm burying his face in his hands for a few minutes in a loss of composure, or her having to rest alone for a while in another room, or them holding hands that are shaking together while they try to escape through a comfort movie from their childhoods.

It just...helps, being together.

And then eventually Malcolm tells her she can't come back, in the most confusing move he's ever made. 

" _Why?_ " she asks. She's ready to, of course, because Malcolm gave his life for hers, and the guilt nearly overwhelms her sometimes, and she figures the _least_ she can do is let him be alone when he asks.

But she needs to know why. She needs to know this isn't a goodbye, or because of something she did.

Instead, Malcolm can't even raise his eyes, flushed with shame. His face is still frighteningly gaunt in the shadows, but he's staying steady now, maintaining. She knows he's been in outpatient treatment for that and however else he's personally coping with the newest of his traumas, but he doesn't want to talk about it, _can't,_ and she would never make him. She'd never make him do anything but _answer_ _this._

"Because when I look at you…"

His throat works for a moment, but he can say nothing more. He ducks his head even lower. 

She moves closer, and he flinches. She stops, and he rocks forward on his toes like he wants her to come closer again.

"What, Bright?" And when that gets no response, she lowers her voice more and says, " _What,_ Malcolm?"

Malcolm shivers violently. Licks those lips she's been staring at for months, and makes her want to taste them, too.

She makes a choice, because she's almost certain she knows what he's going to say. Almost. 

She steps closer, and this time he doesn't recoil. Instead he just sucks in a deep breath and holds it, completely frozen still, watching her out of his peripheral vision.

"Can you look at me?" she asks, reaching out. That he jumps at, but she doesn't touch him. Just cups her hand in front of him, and watches in anxiety-ridden awe as Malcolm leans forward and pushes his chin into her grasp, his eyes fluttering closed.

It feels a bit like it was made to be there. That she was made to make him look so completely detached from any reality but the one she's creating with him, right now.

"Bright?" 

He finally breathes in, quiet but there, and raises his eyes. He rarely meets her gaze anymore, and she knows now it's because she'd see the tears in them, the desperation, and the unhidden love and affection that matches everything she's been feeling, too.

"Bright," she murmurs, stroking under his jaw, and he melts entirely into her touch, lips parting in a soft gasp.

She takes another chance, almost more of a leap.

"What do you want, when you look at me?" 

Malcolm starts to shut down. He crushes his eyes closed, pulls away, and curls into himself. "I'm s-sorry, you should—"

"Because when I look at you," she interrupts. "I feel like—" She takes in a gulp of air. "Like kissing you...wouldn't be the worst thing."

Malcolm stares at her, startled. "You want—?"

"I don't want to scare you, Bright. What they did—"

"I—I keep—" He clutches a handful of his shirt, but she sees the violent tremor in his hand anyway. "I keep feeling—"

He ducks his head again, letting out the smallest sob she's ever heard. "I keep feeling them," he whispers. "Their hands. Their…mouths. I don't—I just thought—I just _wanted—_ "

He leans over, like he's about to collapse entirely, and he might. His chest aches terribly, his _heart,_ and he closes his eyes. "I think about—you, instead. I—I pretend...I pretend it's you. The touching. The—the kissing. I want—I just want it to be you."

He doesn't explain further, and he doesn't need to. He doesn't _want_ to. How could he ever tell her what he imagines? How he copes with the arousal he sometimes can't get rid of when he remembers—what he wants to _die_ over, but that counselors keep telling him is normal, just a reaction, something he'd known before but God, it's all so _different_ when it's _him—_ by pretending it's someone good, someone he's wanted all along? That he copes like that at _all,_ because he feels ashamed and sick and _wrong_ and—

Dani is beside him again, offering her hand. He fits his chin there almost on instinct, and she rubs her thumb over his tear-stained cheek.

"I like you, Bright," she says at last. It startles her almost as much as it does Malcolm.

"Y...yeah…?" he manages, and she gives him a soft little smile, nodding.

"Yeah. You're…crazy, and impulsive, but…so am I. And God, Bright, you're…" 

She looks him over, breathing in sharply through her nose, and he has to swallow back the sound that tries to escape.

"You're beautiful," she says. "But we both just went through something awful. I don't think...I don't know. Is it even... _okay_ to do something about it?"

"Do you...w- _want_ to?" 

She doesn't hesitate very long. "A lot."

"I want—" He pushes closer suddenly, biting his lip. "That too.”

She strokes over his lower lip, and this time Malcolm whines. "Want...what?"

"Better," he whispers breathlessly. "Better than...than that. I just—"

"A better memory," she finishes, and he nods. "Get them…" She shakes her head, where the thought of them haunts her, and brushes at her cheek with her free hand. "Get them the fuck out."

"I don't know if it will," Malcolm says.

" _You_ don't know something?" 

Malcolm cracks a smile, and it's nearly impossible to fight the urge to kiss it. 

"We could just…maybe…"

Malcolm raises those big blue eyes again, and echoes, "Just…"

She doesn't respond for a minute, gathering the courage she suddenly, abnormally lacks. And then she asks, "...Can I kiss you? Is that...would that be okay?" 

_"Please,"_ Malcolm whispers, leaning forward, and so she closes her eyes and does.

His lips are just as soft as they look. Malcolm _whimpers_ against hers, arms reeling back like he's never kissed _anyone_ before, like he doesn't know what to do with them, and she snorts, breaking it to grasp his wrists as he stares at her with wide, panicked eyes.

She puts one on her neck, and the other on her shoulder, and kisses him again.

It doesn't yank her shirt down, rip it, because of course it doesn't. It doesn't drag a knife across her throat, up to her cheek, because of _course_ it doesn't. 

It's Bright. Just Bright.

Although _Bright_ isn't _just_ anything. He's far more. Maybe more than she even realized until right at this very moment.

She pulls back, just enough. Malcolm remains totally still, eyes still closed. 

"Okay?" she asks, and he cracks them open at her. She's a bit concerned to find more tears falling down his face, but then he smiles, and it's so warm, endearing, _loving_ that she doesn't know how to handle it. No one's ever looked at her like that before...she never thought she'd _want_ them to.

"Better," he says, hoarsely. "S-so much better. Y...you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it was...it was better."

"You're so...so...e- _everything_ ," he manages, because beautiful or perfect could never be enough to describe her. "Do you wanna—"

They're kissing again before either of them quite know who started it, and then Malcolm's on his back on the couch, and Dani's laid gentle atop him, taking in every bit of his body language to assure she never does too much.

Instead, Malcolm reacts like it's not _enough._ He finally wraps one arm around her, the other curling into her hair, and even when she cringes internally at the feeling, no tug comes. 

Of _course_ it doesn't.

She's just as in control of this as Malcolm is. There's no power imbalance here. She stops, just to prove to both of them she can, and is reassured when Malcolm frets over her. Malcolm pushes away once, and then _giggles_ when she lets him, when she stops immediately and looks down at him with a concern none of those bastards ever could have shown before he's urging her right back.

He's aroused under her, but is more than content to squeeze his thighs around Dani's as she fits it between them, to roll his hips up against hers and just feel something _good_. She breaks the kiss to gently scrape her teeth along his jaw, and takes his gasping whine as permission to trail her lips down to his neck, finding the most sensitive spot he seems to have and giving it her full attention.

"D-Dani—"

"Tell me if you want—"

" _Please don't stop._ "

She can't possibly ignore just how _good_ Malcolm feels, squirming against her. For right now, nothing else matters but _this._

"Can I—?" she asks, and whatever she meant to say Malcolm agrees to anyway.

"Anything— _anything—_ "

She strokes through his sweaty hair with one hand and starts to rock with him, panting as she kisses back up to his mouth, sliding her other hand down to herself. 

Malcolm watches her, eyes suddenly wide, and she bites her lip. That _gaze_ , just him staring at her while she touches, is going to push her over.

" _Dani—"_ he whimpers, and she takes his hand, spreads his fingers, and places it over himself.

"Just you," she says, as he jerks and gulps in air like he's been unable to get any since this started. "Just me. No one else."

He nods, and clumsily pushes his own hand down into his pants. He cries out, so _sensitive,_ and the intimacy between them even without actively _touching_ each other is something she's never experienced.

"Okay?" she asks, because his face is flushed so red she can't tell if it's shame or arousal, but he nods.

"Yes. Y-yes. You?"

" _Yes,"_ she says, kissing him again, and he sobs softly. It's good, it's _good,_ he's never felt more okay—and he's somehow never felt more like crying, either. 

"You're so beautiful, Bright…"

He arches up, head tilting back as he gasps out a mangled echo of it for her, and she lays herself down atop him again and starts to praise him between kisses.

"You're worthy, Bright. You're special. To me. To Gil. To everyone. You're _loved._ You're loved, and you're not dirty, and it wasn't your fault. I don't hate you."

This time he can't reply at all. He bucks his hips up, hand working himself harder, eyes squeezed shut as tiny whines slip from his mouth, and she pants for air, resting their foreheads together. Malcolm's eyes open for half a second, meeting hers, and then he's shutting them even tighter, his hand moving frantically, his lips parting as his head tilts back.

_Jesus_ , he looks beautiful, so _perfect_. So vulnerable and _trusting_ of her…she'll make sure it's never something he regrets.

"I think you're good. I think you're so _good,_ Bright. You're not bad. You're not _wrong._ You're not _him._ You're just _Bright_ and I—I think I lo—"

His grip tightens on her, suddenly, as he chokes out a cry and shudders. His ankle hooks around hers, trying to pull her closer as he writhes, but it's the desperate, _wrecked_ little noises she keeps dragging out of him throughout it that finally have her gasping, too, burying her face in Malcolm's neck as she clenches her teeth and grips tight to him. 

And then relaxes, breathing. Both of them just _breathing,_ because they survived. Because they're alive.

" _Oh…_ " Malcolm says finally, sounding exhausted and winded and half-conscious, and her heart skips a beat, clears her head too soon. He sounds like he did when—

But she leans her head back, and finds he looks _peaceful._ Not drugged, not abused. He looks like he's never felt _better,_ if she's being honest, all of the tension in his body that's been there since she met him all that time ago suddenly gone.

He looks... _fine,_ for once. _Okay_. 

She finds her hand moving without her knowledge, up to brush a piece of hair out of his face. 

He doesn't flinch. Instead his eyes open just a little, and he tilts his head to look at her, and another little blush spreads across his face. 

"Okay?" she asks, and he nods.

"Surprisingly," is his quiet response, and it gets a little chuckle out of her. He smiles, so shy and _adorable_ , and she feels herself mirror it, hiding her face in his neck again.

"Are...you? That wasn't...was that—" He starts to get anxious again, she can _sense_ it, feel it in the way his muscles start to stiffen, and she wraps her arm around him.

"I'm _good,_ Bright. Relax."

Malcolm does. He rolls one of his shoulders, shifts a bit, and curls closer to her. _Obediently_. That makes something spark in her, something to be explored at a later time, when she's not so damn overwhelmed.

"I can't fall asleep," he whispers, when she nearly already has. She forces her eyes open again, realizing she hadn't even considered that, and sees just how his eyelids are drooping, how he's fighting it with everything in him. "I c...can't, I…I'm so…"

"Hey." It's all she needs to say to quiet him. She cups his cheeks, and then slides off to stand up, offering her hand. He takes it, managing to stumble to his feet, and she wonders when was the last time he slept at all.

"Wanna…" He points at his dresser, staggering over to it with his hands out to try and grab onto whatever he can to guide him there, and she turns around while he strips out of his clothing. 

"Ugh," he mutters, and she can't help but chuckle.

"Shower?"

"Can't stand up anymore," he breathes out, followed by the sound of him collapsing heavily into his bed, and she looks to find him dressed in just a pair of pajama pants. 

The bruises are long gone, but it's the first thing she thinks about. 

The second, is how she'd like to see him like this more often.

And _oh,_ that's dangerous. This is all so dangerous, so much emotion she doesn't know what to do with.

She's familiar with fastening him in, now. When he starts to struggle with them she doesn't even hesitate, and he watches her in a daze as she buckles them.

"How long's it been since you slept?"

"Forever," he says, and rests his head back against the pillow, pulling the blanket up over himself. "Gonna sleep now."

She nods, looking him over. 

And then she starts to lay down beside him, taking in his shock but _not_ any discomfort, until she's snugly against his side again.

"W-what are you—"

"I thought we were having a moment."

" _Hah._ We...we were. Are. Just—Dani…I can't...w...what if I—"

"You didn't hurt me at the precinct," she says, "and you haven't hurt me since. But tell me you want me to go, and I will."

He doesn't. He groans softly instead, jerking his head to the side as he desperately tries to put off the sleep still pulling at him. "You...want this?" 

" _Yes,"_ she says, resting her head beside his, and he stops moving so much, tilts his head to rest against hers, and sighs softly when she lays her arm over his chest. "I want this. Do you?"

"Mmm..." Malcolm's eyes are already closed again, body finally lax against the mattress, a sleepy little smile on his lips. "Hmm. You're so...yeah, 's…mmm."

She doesn't get anything more. He goes quiet, sound asleep within mere seconds, his chest rising and falling in a steady, comfortable rhythm that lulls her into a feeling of security unlike she's had before. 

She doesn't have much time to think anything more before she's asleep, too.

And when she wakes, her legs tangled with Malcolm's, morning light reflecting in the blue of Malcolm's eyes as he watches her, she feels like she slept better those few hours than she has for months.

"I didn't hurt you," Malcolm murmurs, and though it's the truth he still sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

"Never," she says, stroking through his hair. "Did you dream?"

He sighs, eyes fluttering shut again. "Not...n-not so bad. Felt...safe, I think. I don't...I don't usually feel safe." He hesitates, scoffing, and adds, "I don't _ever_ feel safe."

She feels her heart skip at the admission, at the idea she'd done nothing but hold him, and that had comforted him enough to feel unlike he ever has. 

“You are,” she says. “We are. Right now.”

He breathes out again, somehow even quieter. “And after?”

“I don’t know,” she says, because she doesn’t. She has no idea. “But...if you want me to be there with you…”

“Yes,” he whispers, before she can even finish. “If—if you want, if—if it’s not—”

She runs her finger along his jaw, tilts it to press a kiss to the scruff there, silencing him. 

“You mean a lot to me. You mean...more to me than I ever wanted you to. So yeah, _Bright._ That’s what I want.”

“Thank God,” Malcolm says, and sounds like he means it with everything in him. It makes her so damn _soft_ for him. _Softer_. “You...I...Dani, I…”

She kisses him gently, and he goes limp again, head dropping back against the pillow. He's never been so happy to be like this with anyone in all the world.  
  
  


“Me too,” she says against his lips, and he giggles softly against hers. His hand gingerly raises, hesitating until she guides it to rest in her hair, and she sighs. Malcolm does, too. 

Still not easy, and still not over, but bearable. _Survivable_. 

Together, getting to an _after_ doesn't seem anywhere near as frightening and impossible as it did before.


End file.
